


Boy Afraid

by jjjat3am



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Oh Say Can You OC, it's not crack i promise, shipping Steve with that guy who punches him at the start of the first movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-18 02:02:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3551906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jjjat3am/pseuds/jjjat3am
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everybody is in love with Steve Rogers, right? </p><p>What about the bully from the movie theater in the first movie?</p><p>His name is Donald and he wouldn't exactly call it love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boy Afraid

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know. I read this throwaway comment by [kehinki](http://kehinki.tumblr.com/) and fic accidentally happened. Then, mostly due to [z-delenda-est's](http://z-delenda-est.tumblr.com/) encouragement, it turned into something a lot more tangible.
> 
> Title if from The Smith's song "Girl Afraid"

 

_A man stands up to a bully and lives long enough to become a hero._

_A bully throws the first punch and becomes anonymous. His fist becomes a metaphor, his face obscured, a blank canvas to reflect on the injustice of the world. His great triumph, perhaps the only real thing he ever does, is throw that punch._

 

*

 

Donald takes off quickly after the soldier arrives. He’s not running, thank you very much, but his pace is quick and his ass is smarting from the kick. He feels like everyone is staring at the dirt stains on his knees from where he hit the ground in the alley. 

 

He runs up the stairs to his apartment, barely avoids Mr. Cohen on his way out and throws a quick apology over his shoulder just in case. The spare key is hidden in the soil of the only pot of flowers they’ve got. He lets himself in. it’s silent in the apartment, but he calls out anyway. No answer. His father probably isn’t back from the gambling den yet. Better off he doesn’t see the state of his clothes.

 

That stupid uptight soldier and his tiny smartass boyfriend… Only one day off work for the foreseeable future and they had to ruin it. He was looking forward to the movie too, willing to brave the brainless propaganda newsreels just to finally see it and now he probably won’t ever get the chance.

 

He avoids glancing at the medal hung in on the kitchen wall and the picture underneath it: his big brother smiling in his army uniform. It’s not unlike the one on the soldier who hit him, but he wouldn’t know that, because he never looks at it.

 

Donald washes the blood off his knuckles and wraps them after, just to be safe. The kid had a hard head if nothing else. And delicate cheekbones, and big blue eyes he’d only ever seen before on a dame. He shakes his head, takes off his clothes to run them under the water and tries to forget about it. 

 

They were probably queer, the both of them. Donald doesn’t want to associate with that.

  
  


*

 

A few months later, the first posters start appearing. He dismisses them at first, doesn’t have the time to stand by and gawk at signs. The heavy bags won’t carry themselves and he’s got a strong pair of hands the factory sorely needs. Just propaganda anyway, and Donald is done being fooled.

 

A guy hands him a flyer when he passes the army recruitment office. Usually he walks past, smothers a curse, but this time he’s disarmed by a familiar pair of blue eyes staring from an unfamiliar body. It’s the kid from the theater. He tries not to dwell on the reason why he’s so sure.

 

(so what if sometimes he takes himself in hand at night to the backdrop of his father’s snores, and imagines a pair of blue eyes and a defiant smirk

 

nobody has to know)

 

When he gets home, his father is already there. He’s sitting at their kitchen table, his brother’s picture grinning behind him, and he’s got a letter in front of him. Donald doesn’t have to look at it to know that it’s his name on the draft notice this time. He reads it in the lines around in his father’s eyes.

 

He packs the flyer with him when he leaves. 

 

He’s not the only one wanking over the Captain America propaganda posters in boot camp, but he’s pretty sure he’s the only one who imagines him a foot smaller.

 

 

*

 

 

Donald does well at boot camp. He's not particularly happy to be drafted, but he's a survivor, and work in the factory has given him some muscle. Eventually, he joins the infantry, runs drills at Camp Lehigh without knowing that the man he's fantasizing about ran those very same roads. 

 

He does all right on the battlefield too. Shoots a few enemies, enough to see the life go out of their eyes, enough to get bone tired of seeing it. He makes friends, comrades, even lovers - dirty, built young men who press close to him in flea-ridden sleeping bags and close their eyes when the come. It's okay. He doesn't want to see them either, when he comes.

 

He gets sent to Italy, winds up in a small dive bar with his squad, drinking and laughing to cover up the emptiness they all carry around in the pockets of their uniforms, in the meaty parts between their ribs.

 

There are rumors about Captain America being on base, but then again, there always are. Captain America is like coffee -  they all know it exists, but they sure as hell hadn't ever seen it in the trenches. 

 

This time it's not just a rumor. He walks in, tall and broad-shouldered, and instantly draws every eye in the bar. But Donald still sees the scrappy skinny kid in the cut of his jaw, the defiant way he returns the stares even though he's blushing, and he has to reach under the table to adjust himself. He remembers the soldier too, sees him in the sergeant that trails Captain America and glares at everyone until they direct their attention elsewhere. Donald doesn't look away and their eyes meet.

 

Donald almost breathes a sigh of relief when the soldier doesn't recognize him. It gives him a secret thrill to see that the smugness is gone, just a facade, to hide the same darkness they all recognize in each other. He wonders, briefly, how long it'd taken to see the proud uptight soldier broken.

 

He keeps tracking them out of the corner of his eye, even volunteers a round so he can get closer to the bar and listen in on their conversation.

 

He almost drops his order of watered-down whiskey when he finally hears Captain America's name. "Steve," the soldier says, and Donald is grateful for the press of bodies that hide his reaction. 

 

"Steve," all too-sharp collarbones and defiant eyes. "Steve," and the way he'd looked when Donald threw the first punch.

 

When he sees the soldier stomp out in a huff, dark-eyed and sharp, Donald decides to follow.

 

He finds the soldier smoking a cigarette and pulls his own out of a hidden pocket, pushes in without asking to light it on the tip of the other cigarette. They make small talk. The soldier introduces himself as Bucky. Donald doesn't offer his name, doesn’t get asked.

 

They end up fucking in an adjacent alley, Donald on his knees, holding onto Bucky’s ass to steady himself.

 

How's that for irony?

 

When he watches Bucky's eyes squeeze shut as he comes, he wonders if they're both seeing the same thing when they close their eyes.

 

Pale skin, skinny wrists and the deepest blue eyes.

 

 

*

 

 

Donald gets shot somewhere near Bari, takes the Nazi with him, but bleeds out slowly on a green patch of earth. Maybe his life flashes before his eyes as the blood trickles down his stomach. His brother, grinning and bright eyed, excited to serve his country, reduced to a cheap medal and an unmarked grave. His father and the way he'd muttered his goodbye into a glass of whiskey. Bucky, and the indignity of being kicked in the ass. 

 

Sharp collarbones and blue eyes and "Hey, have some respect!" bleeding into "I could do this all day."

 

Donald dies somewhere in Italy, far away from home, with Steve's name on his lips.

 

He never does get to see that movie.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr.](http://jjjat3am.tumblr.com/) Kudos are appreciated, comments are love.


End file.
